Blast From the Past
by Addison Kirby-Blue
Summary: Jack finds himself remembering things from his past long-forgotten, and then 'she' turns up...


The sun had not yet finished setting. The crimson sky was laced with a palette of oranges, blues and pinks, and violet clouds were painted with haphazard beauty. A deep orange glow swept over the gently undulating sand. The wind had settled into a peaceful rhythm, whispering through each grain of sand, picking them up into swirling vortexes and dropping them like rain.

A small rodent-like creature appeared from beneath the sand. It stood for a moment, smelling the air. Its tiny ears tensed, listening. It balanced perfectly on its elongated hind-feet, pulling its front paws closer to its heaving ribcage. The brown-speckled fur on its back bristled. It had sensed something.

A great thumping noise sounded from somewhere to the south. It was metallic, grinding its way through the desert, crunching through anything that dared obstruct it. The creature turned, bringing its nose higher as it tried to recognise the disturbance. It was new - new, and terrifying. The creature was frozen in fear. Its eyes widened in horror as it saw what was making such a noise.

A huge great machine rose out of the sand, the front claws grabbing wildly for purchase before crashing back to the ground. It heaved the rest of its way out of the desert, standing proudly on four gargantuan legs. The rusted metal body shone with gold as the sun bounced off of the husk, making the terror look majestic as it wreaked havoc throughout the wasted land. It stayed still for a moment. The joints began to creak as it lurched forward, moving with an incredible speed.

The creature squeaked uncertainly before turning tail and running for its life. It could hear the machine gaining on it, but it was determined to live. Its heart was hammering in its tiny, fragile chest, but it still ran. It still launched over every dune, every rock, hoping, _praying _that it would survive. Not once did it occur to the creature that it may die. It did not know death, for its whole life had been about survival.

The booming became louder. The creature was covered in sand every time the machine took another step. It was so close the shockwaves it sent out with every footfall blinded the rodent. The creature felt fatigue building up in its legs. It was slowing down. It couldn't go on any further.

It had run enough.

* * *

The man stood up. He'd been asleep, but he'd been awoken by a strange sound. Metal against rock. He couldn't see the source of the noise, and already the disturbance was fading fast into the sunset. He looked around. He scratched his head. He kicked out at the sand.

"Where am I?" He said to nobody in particular. He hadn't even been sure he'd said it. He could hardly hear his dry, gravelly voice in the whining of the wind. He ran his hands down his face, peeking out over his fingertips, just in case he was hallucinating.

"No really," he muttered, trying to rack his brain for a fragment of a memory, "Where am I?" The question sounded stupid on his lips, almost clichéd. He felt like the idiot in a horror movie, always asking the questions with the most obvious answers. He knew where he was, of course he did.

He was lost. There were no two ways about it. He couldn't even remember coming into a desert. He turned on the spot. He could tell from the amount of sand in every direction that he was quite a way into the desert, yet he remembered nothing of it. In fact, he couldn't remember much. The last thing he could remember was...

"That was far too long ago..." he dismissed his closest memory with a lazy wave of his hand, but the memory felt like...well, it felt like yesterday. The man growled angrily in frustration, and he batted his hands against his temples, as if it would jog his memory. After a minute of self-battering, the man stopped, and he sighed.

"Pick a direction," he told himself, looking up at the now dark blue sky, "Pick a direction, any direction." He turned at a right angle, closing his eyes momentarily.

"Now run."

He ran. It was difficult at first in the sand, but he eventually settled into his stride, bounding up dunes and leaping over the other side. He tried looking for some sort of marker to give meaning to his running, but he came across nothing but more sand. He couldn't tell if he was running in circles or not.

Suddenly, as he passed what felt like his thousandth dune, he noticed something on the horizon. It felt like a hallucination, but he could've sworn that there was a tent - an old-fashioned tent that tarot readers frequented, with blue and white stripes. It was open, he could see that. The tarpaulin had been folded over on one side, creating a sharp black hole. The man pushed onwards even though his muscles were burning, laughing at his luck.

He came to the tent in no time, almost crying with happiness when he found that it was not a hallucination. He brushed his hand against the material, grabbing it, stroking it. It felt so familiar even though he'd never seen it in his life. His short life, he corrected himself.

He swung around into the door, sighing as he felt the change in the air. It was dark inside the tent, yet he could see a silhouette directly in front of him. A table. A person sat at the table. He took a few tentative steps forward, placing his hands flat on the soft wooden surface. Breathing heavily, he leant forward.

"Where am I?" He said the first thing that came into his head, and it sounded just as stupid as it had done before.

"You are here," the person said. The voice was feminine. A woman.

"Where is _here_?" He asked, hoping that rephrasing his question would merit a better answer.

"Oh, I'm sure you know," the woman inclined her head slightly. The man could tell that she was smiling, even in the terrible light. He heard a match strike, and a small orange flame burst into life. The woman brought her hand down and lit a candle that sat in front of her. The tent was suddenly illuminated, and the man had to blink rapidly until his eyes adjusted.

The woman looked...strange. She was dressed in a robe that was grey in colour with a blue trim. A hood rested in the middle of her head, framing her silver hair. She had soft features and intense blue eyes. Her eyelashes were white. She looked up at the man expectantly, her elegant hands folded in front of her.

"Hello, Jack," she said, and everything went black.


End file.
